


dreamlike, overprinted

by Kalgalen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Pining, That's It that's the Show, Trans Characters, oh yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: The worst part of crushes is when they don't go away.





	dreamlike, overprinted

**Author's Note:**

> I'm blaming this on TK and his daydreaming Martoo comics
> 
> Written during the past 2 nights and unbetaed, hopefully still readable???

So.

The thing is - that is, the thing about this whole _daydreaming_ business - the thing is, Martin knows it's probably quite unhealthy. Highly inappropriate, in any case; he's surprised, sometimes, that he can bring himself to look Jon in the eye after spending a good portion of the previous hour imagining what the Archivist would feel like under his hands.

It's - look, it wasn't supposed to go that far, alright? Usually, when Martin gets a crush, it's not reciprocated - or rather: he doesn’t tell them, but the distinction is irrelevant - and he ends up moving on. It's the easiest way not to get hurt and, more importantly, not to make anyone uncomfortable. He’s aware he's not exactly boyfriend material. A good friend, sure; a useful, helpful one at the very least. He's not sure he's ever made enough of an impact on anyone's life to have earned the title of “best friend”, and anything more than that is just… it's something that happens to other people.

There's no reason for that crush to be any different from the previous ones - except for all the ways there's nothing usual about it, he supposes. Even before the really weird stuff started happening - when Jon was just the head archivist, no caps - he'd had this _aura_ to him, as if he was walking on a path parallel to the real world. Removed, cautious, teetering on an invisible line between human and spirit. It's what had attracted Martin in the first place, he thinks: the _challenge_ of it. To be the one to erase the perpetual frown from Jon’s face, to unknot the tension from his shoulders, to make him smile. In any case, it should have stopped at some point during the past few months, what with Jon’s near unbearable paranoia, then the suspicions of murder and him disappearing from the scene of the crime, and finally the revelation that he was not quite human anymore. _If he's ever really been,_  whispers the small voice in Martin's head that he's pretty sure is his reason; as always when it comes to Jon, he ignores it.

The point is, the feelings should have faded by now; instead they seem to have increased tenfold - the surge of worry and protectiveness and _want_ that had almost knocked the air out of his lungs when Jon had returned to the Institute after his abduction by the Stranger is proof of this enough. If the others weren't so openly distrustful - or even downright hostile, in Tim’s case - toward Jon, Martin would suspect the supernatural to be at play. Maybe as a defense mechanism, the Beholding ensuring the assistants would die for their Archivist?

But no. As far as Martin can tell, he's just genuinely, desperately in love. Not that it changes much to anything, really. There's too much going on to even consider the idea of walking up to Jon and confessing his feelings - not that he'd have managed to gather the courage to do it in the first place.

Instead, he lets his mind wander; he reads the same lines over and over again and they get drowned under the pictures playing in his head, far more enticing that whatever the paper before him - testimony, police report, a news article - can offer him. He imagines Jon laid down in front of him, eyes bright with feverish anticipation, beckoning him closer. Martin can never quite picture the events leading to this situation, possibly because he can't imagine it ever happening; it's not enough to snap him out of the fantasy, though, and when he does lean down to kiss Jon, it's lazy and unhurried, as if for once the world isn't about to end. He runs a hand against Jon’s side, and he knows he's allowed to slip his fingers below the hem of Jon’s shirt - so he does, his touch light and fleeting over Jon’s ribs until he reaches the edge of the binder - which Martin has never seen, of course, but he _notices_ things, and he's definitely noticed Jon’s increased bad mood at the end of a long day, or the too-thick clothes and hunched posture he adopts on days too warm to allow safe binding. Martin would like to tell him he understands - that it's something they have in common, actually - but he's not sure Jon, the real one, would take any mention of that particular secret well. The Jon in Martin’s head simply watches him, waiting for a reaction with no visible apprehension - like he knows that Martin knows, like he knows about Martin too, as if this puts them in the confidence of a secret that's at the same time entirely innocuous and too important to be shared with the rest of the world - a little nothing, a silent understanding, just between the two of them.

Martin leaves the binder alone for the moment, and takes his attention to the soft stretch of skin right below it. Jon gasps when he presses a kiss there, and the Archivist’s fingers reach out to tangle themselves in Martin’s hair, not so much a guidance as a sign that he’s welcomed here, that he’s _wanted._  Encouraged by the unintelligible praises tumbling from Jon’s lips, Martin drags his nails down Jon’s ribcage, and his hands settle above Jon’s hips as if that is exactly where they belong. The Jon in Martin’s head sighs, moans, buckles under Martin's touch as he nips at the skin above Jon’s waistband, and Jon is speaking, with a breathlessness and an urgency that make Martin feel like he's going to start falling, or maybe flying, and he can't catch most of the words - approval, demands, threats and prayers, mingled in one confused, perfect gasp - but he knows Jon is saying his name, and -

“-tin. Martin, are you alright?”

Returning to the real world feels like waking up from a nightmare, sticky tendrils of what-can-never-be tugging at Martin’s heart, and for a second it feels like a pit opened up inside of him; but Jon - the real Jon, greying hair and a concerned line between his eyebrows - is looking at him, standing stiffly next to his desk, and he's waiting for an answer.

Martin stammers, fusses with the papers on his desk so he doesn't have to look at Jon with the memory of another version of the man so fresh in his mind.

“Fine!” he says, “fine, fine, totally fine! Sorry, I was- somewhere else. Did you need anything?”

Instead of answering, Jon frowns, and stares at him; and that's a typically Martin thing to do, isn't it, getting caught slacking on the job when there's so much at stake, right? Go him for showing Jon he was entirely right to believe Martin unqualified for his post in the first place.

Instead of disappointment, though, all he can see on Jon’s face when he finally risks a glance up - is _worry._

It's worse, somehow. He doesn't want Jon to worry, especially not about him.

( _Liar,_ says the voice in his head, and - well. Yeah, okay. It _is_ nice, actually.)

Jon takes a step forward, every one of his movements tinged with hesitation, and he puts a hand on Martin's shoulder. The gesture is clumsy, as if he's read about it in a book but never had the occasion to try it out. It's so endearingly _Jon_ that Martin almost reaches up to cover Jon's hand with his own, before catching himself and keeping his fingers flat on the desk.

“Don't overdo it, alright?” Jon says - like he cares, like he means it, and it's still novel and surprising enough that it makes Martin's breath catch a little. “Take a break. Go,” Jon fumbles for his words, obviously unsure of what one is supposed to do on a break, and finishes with: “Go take a walk. Weather's nice.”

Martin knows for a fact that Jon hasn't left the Archives in two days, and he casts him an unimpressed look. “Is it?”

Jon shrugs, gives an irritated scoff, and that's more like the Jon Martin remembers.

“Just take the damn break, Martin.”

“Only if you’re coming too,” Martin's mouth says without his input, and he's got just a moment to be mortified before Jon blinks, gives an awkward chuckle, and looks away.

“I guess I could do with some fresh air as well. Alright, I'll grab my coat.”

Martin watches as Jon retreats toward his office, slightly stunned, then starts grinning to himself.

If daydreaming keeps leading to that kind of results, he might actually have to start doing it more often.


End file.
